


Children of the Perseids

by Fishwrites



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Affection, Anger, Autism, Blood and Violence, Bullying, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Galaxy Garrison, Galra Empire, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, M/M, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Protectiveness, Recovery, Resentment, War, Waterboarding, Whump, rations, voltron season 7, war time measures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-30 03:32:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15743379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites
Summary: Two years into the Galran Occupation, and rations are cut for the third time in as many weeks.The MFE pilots are one of the few who still get double rations and full water allotments. This does not go unnoticed by the rest of the Garrison. And as they say: hungry men are angry men.





	1. I

  _"Anger cannot be dishonest."_  
\- Marcus Aurelius

> :i:
> 
> _ 3016 AD: 2 and a half years into the Galran Occupation. _

 

It wasn’t that they ever forgot they were in the middle of a desert.

But in the bowels of the Garrison, away from the sand-scorched windows and heat scoured steel, away from the relentless sun and heavy cold evenings...before the Galra came...one could almost forget. 

It was in every new cadet’s tour-guide and made up a sturdy portion of their first year curriculum: the Garrison had very advanced water recycling facilities, deep subsurface reservoirs and huge emergency food caches. There were fifteen different energy systems going at any one point, including the solar tiles that practically covered the entire outer surface. A state-of-the-art greenhouse and laboratory ran the length of the main west building, and although most of their supplies was still imported, no one ever wanted for anything. 

But that had been before the Galra arrived.

Someone sighed, loud and deliberate just behind James. He resisted the urge to look back.

They were standing in line at the canteen, and everyone was dutifully shuffling along in six successive rows. In another life, these rows were usually be distinguished by orange, greys and blacks, people separated by the number of stripes on their shoulders. 

Now, it was different. Now, rations were given out depending the number of hours spent outside the Barrier; the weight of supplies scouted and the number of galra killed. James’ orange cadet’s uniform stuck out like a sore thumb, but he was used to it by now. 

It was dinner time, and the large mess hall was filled with the chatter; people coming together after another long day. Not that there was any other kind - the days were always long, and the nights were longer. 

The canteen was easily one of the largest halls in the Garrison (save for the hangers) and the bright white lighting was always a little maddening. Leif  _ hated _ it. A second level housed the officer’s mess and it oversaw the main canteen with large floor-to-ceiling windows. 

James could smell cheese and something garlicky that made his mouth water, and he absently tapped the trays in his hand impatiently against the side of his knee. He hoped the protein of the day was beef...he missed burgers.

The person sighed again, louder this time. 

“Fucking cadets,” they said, not bothering to keep his voice down.

James spared them a glance out of the corner of his eye, and saw a trio of tall grey silhouettes, single gold stripes for all of them. Junior officers. He recognised one - an officer by the name of Greene who was a few years older than James and who went on routine supply runs sometimes, as they all did. Greene caught him looking and his expression soured. 

“Hey Griffin,” his friend called, knocking James in the back with the edge of his plastic tray, “you lost? Cadets are over there.”

James kept his face resolutely blank and stepped away as the line inched forwards. As the rations got tighter over the past year, the resentful comments became louder.  _ Don’t engage _ , though James loudly over the muttering behind him,  _ don’t engage, just get dinner and leave. Assholes. _

He could almost hear the sound of Kinkade’s raised eyebrow, but quiet solid intimidation was not something that James could pull off. He had to settle for a sense of superior apathy instead. 

_ They’re jealous because they’re bored, _ Rizavi would say, tossing her hair,  _ stuck here all day running drills and checking inventory.  _

James didn’t think ‘bored’ was quite the right word - there was something a tad ugly in their gaze to be attributed solely to boredom. But it was understandable. Things were hard. Everyone’s rations had been cut again last week. You could feel the dip in the morale, in the tone of the chatter, and in the abrupt hush of conversation when any of them happened to walk by with full trays of food. 

The MFE’s burned a lot of calories, and all four of them had been under strict doctors’ orders to eat twice the general allotted ration per day, regardless of their mission agenda. It was something that did not go unnoticed by certain members of the garrison. 

James slid both his and Leif’s trays onto the metal counter, and didn’t flinch when Greene slapped his tray down along the conveyor so that it hit the back of James’ hand and clattered to a stop. James couldn’t help but roll his eyes, tilting his chin up and packing as much disdain as he could into one glare.

“Hangry much?” he said.

“What’s that?” said Greene, loudly. He stepped closer, trying to use his height to loom. James didn’t so much as twitch, just slid his trays along the conveyor as the line moved ahead. He was almost at the window now. 

“I said,  _ hangry much? _ ” repeated James with exaggerated annunciation.

“You little shit,” Greene started, arm coming up - and James tensed, unclear whether he was about to get punched or grabbed. 

The officer standing next to Greene nudged him hard with his shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid,” he hissed.

Green looked like he had swallowed a lemon, and there must have been something smug on James’ face because he snarled,

“Well keep moving  _ cadet _ !”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said James dryly, and followed his tray along to the window. 

He wished Kinkade or one of the others were with him, but Ryan and Nadia were running post-mission diagnostics with Doctor Holt, while Leif was shut in her room to recover from their gruelling recon. They had lost an entire vehicle to new galran stealth bombs two nights before, and everyone had been on extra patrols to scan for the deadly buggers. It had not been a good week and James had offered to get both his and Leif’s dinners. Her tag was slung around his neck, clicking against his own. 

Not quite strictly within the rules, but also not the first time that James had done a double-dinner run to save Leif from having to deal with the rush hour crowds. 

The officer in front of him paused, a split second for the scanner to catch his tag, before a steaming foil-sealed packet was deposited onto his tray. He went along each window, and the food was distributed assembly-line style. All in all, the whole thing was automatic, but the cooks manned the length of the counter with bored but careful eyes. 

James drew level with the first window and gave the chef his best winning smile. 

“Hi Mena,” he said, holding up Leif’s tag, “Leif isn’t feeling great - is it alright if I get hers as well?”

The cook mock-tutted at him, but her eyes were crinkled at the edges. James knew for a fact that she - alongside most of the other kitchen staff - thought he was quote unquote:  _ such a nice, polite young man _ . James may or may not have gone out of his way to be pleasant to the chefs. In his experience, it  _ always _ paid off to be nice to the people with the food. That and the fact that the MFE crew was one of a handful of people whose rations hadn’t been cut. 

“Mr Griffin, you  _ know _ you’re not meant to do that,” said Mena, raising her eyebrows, “but just this once.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” he heard Greene say from behind them. 

James ignored him and swiped Leif’s tag with one hand, shifting both trays along with the other so that they were aligned with the dispensers. He watched as the metal slot opened and the food plopped out, the plastic crinkling. 

He ducked his head.

“Thanks ma’am,” he said, “she’ll really appreciate it.”

“You make sure that girl eats everything on her plate, alright? Looked right peaky when I saw her yesterday.”

James huffed out a laugh.

“Yes ma’am.”

Mena waved him on with a fond smile and a wink, and soon James had two trays worth of food. There was a rectangle foil-sealed packet that steamed with heat, alongside a thin tray of fruit, two nut bars, a soup cup and three bread rolls. He realised the reason for the wink - there was two small paper wrapped chocolates on their trays. James grinned and grabbed two bottles of juice at the end of the counter, and turned to leave. 

“You’re  _ fucking _ kidding me,” an officer was muttering discontentedly, “double rations while the rest of us is on half?”

James’ trays were noticeably more loaded than anyone else's, and he could feel the sensation of multiple eyes on him, some curious, others hungry and resentful. He squared his shoulders. 

“Now you’re just trying to rub our faces in it, Griffin,” said someone else, “pigging out like that...while your senior officers starve.”

“What, you deaf? Dodo.”

James stared past him, biting back his retort. The MFEs logged the most flight hours outside the barrier than anyone else on base and they all knew it. But to those who didn’t recognise him, he was just another cadet who had the favouritism of the brass. 

_ Don’t engage, just keep walking Griffin.  _ Leif was waiting for him and it had already been half an hour. She’d start worried and he didn’t have spare hands to text her back between now and their rooms. 

Greene tried to trip him as he passed, but James stepped neatly over the man’s boot.  

The officer snarled anyway, his own tray in his right hand.

“ _ Watch  _ it, cadet.”

James just held his chin up and stalked out of the canteen. He could feel the uncomfortable pinpoint pricks of simmering resentment on the back of his neck, watching him all the way out.

 

* * *

 

There were several multi-purpose training rooms scattered across the Garrison. After the Galra came, most of these had been converted to simulation rooms or storage for medical supplies, but there were still plenty to go around. The squad often found themselves in this particular gym out of habit - it was more out of the way, an officer’s-only facility and usually deserted by the time it ticked past 9.30pm. 

“I just - “ James paused as the terrain shifted suddenly and they both had to leap to adjust, “ -  _ wish _ they’d give us officer uniforms. Or a badge. Or something. Literally anything.”

“Mmm,” said Kinkade.

“If I have to hear someone call me a cadet  _ one _ more time,” continued James, who was very much out of breath but supplemented by sheer pent up irritation, “asshole called me a fucking Dodo - irony that’s what it is.”

“Did they give you trouble?” asked Ryan, head tilted in a way that told James he was concerned. 

They were both on the terrain modulators, running side by side, simulation goggles strapped to their eyes. They had left the earpieces out so they could chat, which wasn’t really how the simulation was supposed to go... but it was good enough. They were doing a desert run, and the treadmill beneath their feet would shift in real-time as the simulation played out in their goggles. They had done this particular sim before, and even with the randomiser, James had to admit his body was moving on autopilot. 

“Nah,” he said, “just said the usual shit, you know. Got extra pissy because I was getting dinner for Leif as well and -  _ fuck!” _

A dip in the ‘sand’ made him stumble and James threw out his arms instinctively for balance. He didn’t fall off the modulator, thank god, but he heard Kinkade laugh beside him, low and soft. 

“Don’t break the mod,” he said, out of breath but amusement clear in his voice. 

“Oh shut up,” said James sulkily.

They ran for another ten minutes or so in companionable silence, the sound of their footsteps and the grinding  _ whirr _ of the machine the only noise in the empty gym. His chest was beginning to hurt in a good achey way that came with exercise. His senses were mostly narrowed down to the changing terrain in his goggles and the sound of his own rapid breathing - and the sound of Kinkade next to him. It was comforting. 

The sim ran its course and the treadmill beneath their feet slowed to a stop. Breathing heavily, James pulled the goggles off his eyes, wincing as the band caught on his hair. 

Kinkade was already stepping off the modulator. His shirt was damp with sweat, and he pulled up the edge of it to wipe at his face, leaving James with an unobstructed view of his abs and pecs. James hoped the exertion meant that no blush was going to be visible on his already flushed face - he felt like his ears were burning. 

“Time?” said Ryan, stepping the two steps over to James and wordlessly handing him his water bottle, popping the cap open for him. There was an easy routine to their small gestures, and it was this quiet unthinking affection that James hoarded in their rare slices of time. 

“Ten thirty,” said James, without having to look at his phone. He took three long pulls from the water bottle and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Ryan’s gaze dip to the line of his throat. 

James smirked to himself, and made no attempt to wipe the water from his mouth once he was done. 

“Bed time for you,” said James, recapping his bottle and lobbing it at his open bag. It fell in, neat as you please. “Go ahead, I’ll catch you up.”

“Not tired yet?” asked Kinkade, and there was a worried pinch to his eyebrows, “close call today.”

James rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. 

“Wanna run off the nightmares,” he admitted, “I...just another sim or two. I’ll shower down here so I don’t wake you when I come back, yeah?”

They knew each other well enough by now that Kinkade didn’t attempt to talk him out of it, but he did clasp a solid broad hand to James’ nape, thumb on the skin beneath his left ear. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” said Kinkade, “we all await the good-night sound off texts. I can’t sleep without them. We anxiously - ”

“Oh  _ har har har _ ,” said James, deadpan, but tilted his head up for the kiss that was pressed there, “go away.”

Kinkade gave him a mock finger salute, and then slung his bag over his shoulder. It was a  good distance from the modulators to the door of the gym, and James watched Ryan all the way to the exit.

Now that they had paused, he could feel the dull ache in his calves, and an exhaustion that pulled at the edges of his vision. But when he closed his eyes, he could still see the corpses, their faces burned black from fire, flesh half stripped and their eyes open. They had their helmets on but his brain had automatically supplied the smell, and two years in...his imagination had no shortage of material. It had been a long day.

James sighed and pulled the goggles back over his face, slipping in his ear pieces this time. 

Maybe just one more sim.

 

* * *

 

In the end, James ran two and a half sims on the modulator before calling it quits. When he had stepped off the treadmill, his knees had wobbled and his muscles were screaming. 

Grabbing his bag, he pulled out his towel as he walked. 

One good thing about being an MFE pilot was, alongside the generous food rations, their water allotment extremely high, thanks to all the hours they logged outside the barrier. This meant they each had effectively an 8-10 minute shower quota per day, as opposed to the usual 3 minutes. 

James rolled his shoulders, groaning as he worked his right arm in its socket. 

He was going to turn up the heat as high as it would go and make every minute count, thought James, slapping open the door to the change-rooms. 

The lights automatically came on as he walked in, and James pushed his bag into the nearest locker. At this hour, change-room was deserted and smelled of synthetic lemon cleaning liquid. Mirrors lined one wall where the sinks stood, opposite the toilets the shower stalls. James pulled his shirt over his head, stuffing it into his bag. He kicked off his shoes and socks, undressing down to his briefs. The ventilator in the bathroom kept everything chilled to the tiles, and his skin goosebumped. He pulled his towel free from the locker and had just latched it shut when the door to the change-rooms banged open. 

James whipped around, and his heart sank. 

It was Greene and two other friends.

“Fancy seeing you here, Cadet,” said Greene. 

They weren’t in officers’ uniform anymore, but they were still wearing regulatory black boots. The grip on their soles made barely any noise on the tiles, but in that moment James wished he hadn’t undressed so quickly. He felt too naked for this confrontation, standing there in his underwear and his tags, and James gritted his teeth and swallowed back his words. 

He turned, still holding his towel and made for one of the shower stalls. 

“Hey, Dodo, we’re talking to you!”

He saw them make a stride for him in the reflection of the mirrors and James managed side step Greene. 

“Leave me alone,” said James, trying to keep his voice even and calm, “just here to shower.”

Greene crossed his arms, shifting to block James’ path to the stalls. He was hyper aware that Greene’s friends now stood between James and the exit, and every muscle in his body was screaming, tense and cornered. James took a deep breath. It was going to be fine - they had all survived much worse than this: a couple of dickheads who felt belittled and useless. 

“You seem to have a habit of getting lost, cadet,” said Greene, the sneer a harsh line on his face, “this is the officer’s gym.”

“I’ve not a fucking cadet anymore,” snapped James, “so I have access. If you’ve got problem with it, that’s  _ your _ business -”

He ducked to avoid the fist that came at his face, but he didn’t move fast enough to avoid the the second officer who took advantage of the distraction to kick James’ legs from right out under him. James went down hard, bare feet slipping on the tiles. He felt something  _ twist _ in his left wrist as he flung out his hand to break his fall, and he cried out. But his voice was aborted sharply when the back of his head cracked hard on the floor-tiles, the pain lancing through the back of his eyes like an electric jolt.  The ceiling lights wavered above him, out of focus. 

“Ha!” someone said, “classic, Weetman.”

Between one blink and the next, Greene was on him, one knee digging painfully between James’ ribs; hands around his James’ throat. His face was contorted in malice, eyes bright with resentment. 

James tried to buck him off, trying to find purchase with his heels for leverage. Greene let go of James’ throat and punched him so hard across the face that his head snapped to the cold tile. 

“You little  _ shit,” _ the officer was saying, punctuating each word with a right hook to the face, “smug - little -  _ shit - “ _

Each punch snapped James’ face to the right until his head was lolling, limp and painful. 

The left side of James’ face felt almost numb, and he snarled, trying to twist out from under Greene’s knee. He managed to jab his hand  _ hard _ up against the man’s groin, and Greene swore, the weight from his knee sliding from James’ chest as he lost balance. James felt a flare of hope, and he bucked hard, kicking out against the person who was trying to pin his legs down. 

Then Weetman stomped down viciously on his injured wrist and James  _ screamed. _

“Not gonna fly so well with one hand now, are you?” the man spat, face split into a grin as he watched James writhe and twitch on the floor, left hand flung out and pinned by his boot. 

The weight on James’ chest was back, but James could barely breathe from the excruciating pain in his left wrist. He had had broken bones before - they had all had their fare share of injuries with the world going to shit - but no one had had a serious crash with the MFEs yet. Pilots tended not to come back when something bad happened, and day to day, they were pretty well insulated in their ships. 

The pain was overwhelming behind his eyelids, and James tried to wrench his hand free, only for Weetman to grind his heel on the wrist. The pain ratcheted up his arm like a live-wire, and it took a moment for James to realise the high pitched whimpering noise was coming from his own mouth. 

“Oh look,” said Greene, “crying already. Jesus christ, they’re really letting the babies pilot on the front lines these days aren’t they?”

James blinked the tears from his eyes, furious at himself. The movement was sluggish, his left eye already beginning to swell. 

“Hows’ it feel then,” he said, voice stuttering from pain but still edged with a grin, “out-flown by…. a bunch of babies.”

He raised his eyebrows; more bravado than he felt, and for a split second, he felt a rush of gratifying satisfaction at turning all three officer’s face a nasty shade of puce. And then Greene punched him right in the face, and James heard, rather than felt, his nose  _ crunch _ \- followed by the taste of blood exploding in his mouth. James had forgotten how  _ hot _ blood felt on bare skin, and he could feel it under his nose now, all over his mouth and trailing lines down his throat. It tickled, and for a strange absent moment just wanted a free hand so he could wipe it away. 

He coughed from the taste, but then Greene’s hand was back at his throat, holding him still. 

“It’s this fucking attitude,” he said, face too close, “you think you’re better than us?”

“At f-flying?” croaked James, “definitely,  _ sir. _ ”

Then he let out a gasping whine as Weetman stomped down on his wrist again. 

“ _ Shit -  _ “ he tried to say, “Fuck you,  _ fuck you - “ _

“I have a friend up in the infirmary,” said Greene, “Mark’s brother. Lost a leg last week from a blow out. And you know, he’s still on fucking half rations while  _ you - “ _

Another punch to the face.

“-  _ you _ and your little cadet friends get double. And you have the fucking gall to come in and take two trays. You think it’s funny? Rubbing our faces in it?”

“What I want to know,” said Mark, who had so far been quiet, “is what this lot did to get the brass on their side.”

“Teachers’ pets,” sneered Greene, “I don’t know what the others do, but this one probably spends a lot of time on his knees under Commander Iverson’s desk.”

_ Don’t engage, _ Kinkade would often say - Kinkade, who was proud as any of them but quiet and sure. In all the years that they had been friends, James had never seen him lose his temper. But James was not his better half, and his although he had a better handle on his pride these days, his blood was rushing hot and his heart was thumping with pain and fear and contempt. 

He spat a mouthful of blood at Greene and it hit him straight in the eye. 

“Fuck!”

The man reared back instinctively, and James saw his chance and took it with both hands, jackknifing up from the hip and managing to pull his hand free, even though it fucking  _ hurt.  _ He flipped Greene onto his side, but Weetman and Mark rushed him before James could get to his feet. 

One of them wrenched James’ arms behind his back, ignoring his shout of pain as his injured wrist was gripped tight against the other, pulled high enough that the position pulled sharply at his shoulders and chest. It left him with only his  bare feet, which was useless against boots. 

Greene was washing out his eye at one of the basins, and for some reason, it felt hilarious and choked a manic burst of laughter from James. 

The three went deathly quiet. 

“You think it’s funny, cadet?” said Mark, tilting his head. He couched down on his haunches in front of James, and James licked at the cut on his lip. Hise was still gushing blood, thick and sluggish like the pounding static of pain at the back of his head. 

“You think it’s funny that someone who risked their lives - and half a fucking leg - gets less food than you?”

James stared the man straight back in the eyes. 

“The MFEs burn a lot,” he said, words slurred from the stiffness in his jaw and his busted lip, “what the hell do you think I can do about - “

James gagged violently as Mark slugged him hard in the stomach. 

“You’re not better than the rest of us,” he said, over James’ wheezing. 

James groaned.

“Never said - “

Mark punched him again, right in the solar plexus and James jerked, gagging uncontrollably from the force of the blow. The food he had eaten hours earlier burned as it came back up, and he coughed even as he vomited.

“Oh that’s disgusting,” came Weetman’s voice from behind him.

Mark didn’t seem deterred, hitting James in the stomach over and over, face blank and jaw tight. There was a rhythm to it, like a metronome, like Mark was on auto-pilot. James couldn’t speak if he wanted to - each punch left him with less air than the last, and he felt like he was going to start throwing up his organs. He retched, coughing painfully as he vomited all over the bathroom tiles and himself. Weetman was still holding onto his arms, and between the pain in his wrist and the agony in his stomach, James was quickly losing the energy to struggle.

“Waste of rations,” said Greene from where he was watching, face alight with an ugly sort of glee, “give it to him, Mark.”

Another punch, and James coughed, stomach and lungs still seizing in tandem. 

Nothing came up this time though, just sour bile and saliva, mixed with the blood from his broken nose. 

He peered up at them with his one good eye. 

“You...done?” he managed, voice raw but steady. 

Greene kicked him in the side with the hard cap of his boot, right in the ribs, and James flinched. 

“That’s  _ sir _ , to you,” he said, “show some respect to your superiors.” 

James grinned, blood his teeth. 

_ Don’t engage. _

He was so tired.

“Not superiors...going by ration size, heh,” James managed to say and something seem to  _ snap _ in Mark’s expression. He grabbed James by the throat with both hands, face contorted with anger and something wilder, like grief. For a split second, James felt a flare of regret. 

And then he was being dragged bodily into a shower stall, Weetman helping them along and Greene’s voice bouncing off the shower tiles. 

“Yeah, wash his mouth out with some fucking soap,” he was saying, “he flies a few rounds and thinks he runs this place. Fucking disrespectful, that’s what it is.”

“We’re just gonna rinse him off,” said Weetman, laughing, ignoring James’ kicking heels, “made a bit of a mess there. Can’t leave it for the poor staff to clean can we.”

“Going to teach you a fucking lesson,” said Mark, spittle flying from his mouth, one hand still wrapped around James’ throat. There was a sharp  _ yank _ as he snapped the thin chain around James’ neck. James tried to protest, but all he could manage was a wheeze. Greene took the James’ tag and swiped it on the side of the shower door, before tossing it to the floor. 

Then someone flicked on the shower head.

Freezing water came pelting down, soaking James in a bare second. He yelled, spluttering and snapping his eyes shut against the rush of water, trying to pull free, hoping the water would make his skin too slippery to hold...but between the two men, both broader than James - Weetman just held on tighter, wrenching his arms up so hard that James yelped. 

He heard Weetman swear, followed by more laughter.

“Did you have to fucking do that?” he said, “I’m - ugh, totally wet now -  a bit of  _ warning _ \- “

James tried to turn his face away from the water, but felt Mark’s fingernails at the back of his neck, the other hand gripping hard in the soft points beneath James’ jaw. Felt him dig his fingers in  _ hard _ so that James had no choice but to tilt back his head. 

“Clean in no time,” said Weetman. 

James realised, a split second too late, what their intentions were and he kicked out desperately, twisting and struggling despite his broken wrist, fueled by renewed panic. 

He tried to shout, tried to protest  - but it was quickly getting hard to breathe. He had to breathe. But he knew he had to keep the water from - 

“...learn your place,” someone was saying - _ Mark?  _ But James couldn’t hear anything over the rush against his face. He tried to hold his breath but someone else...there were too many hands...punched him again in the stomach. And James would have doubled over, if not for Weetman’s iron grip on his arms. As it was, he gasped involuntarily, lungs seizing for air, and the water rushed into his mouth, into his nose. 

“How fucking dare you,” Mark was saying, over and over, hands still vicelike around James’ throat, holding him under the water spray, “how fucking  _ dare _ you - “

The burn of the water in his nasal passage sent his brain into an absolute fit, and James jerked against Weetman, body seizing, trying desperately to stop James from drowning. His back bowed in an arch, lungs screaming.

Mark pulled James sideways, letting him gasp in a desperate, burning breath - 

“No,” choked James, voice a bare gurgle, “No -  _ don’t - !” _

\- before shoving him back under the shower spray. 

Faintly James was aware of his bare feet scrabbling against the tiles. They felt smooth against his skin, but not as cold as the water. The water was so cold, why wasn’t his face numb from it yet? It burned, in his nose, even the blood had stopped being warm. He could still hear Mark’s voice, despite the roaring rush of water:

_ “How dare you, how dare you, how dare you - “ _

“Okay - we should let up before he - “

“Dude, Mark - buddy, you’re gonna kill him!”

James didn’t know if he had ever been in this much pain before, but in that moment, he would have done anything to make it stop. He couldn’t  _ think _ , his entire body and brain narrowed down to a singular thought:  _ can’t breathe, can’t breathe, drowningcan’tbreathecan’t breathe-  _

Unable to stop himself, James inhaled a lungful of water, and his body seized, jerking and shuddering. He couldn’t see anything beyond a foggy grey of light and shapes, but the sound of the water...it was everywhere, thundering. 

Voices, harsh and panicked. 

“Okay fuck,  _ let go _ \- come on, we’ve done enough, you’re gonna fucking kill him!”

“Mark!”

“Fuck, I’m out- “

And then, without warning, the hands disappeared. 

James collapsed in a heap, back hitting one wall of the shower stall on the way down until he slipped, coming to rest on his side. He couldn’t stop coughing, lungs heaving with the shock of air. 

Still choking on the water, James clawed at the tiles, desperate to pull himself out of the water’s range. He could see boots, from where he lay on the ground, black and heavy. He could hear and feel the vibrations of each footstep, even with the water still spraying out. James tried to push himself, to push himself  _ out  _ of the water - but he forgot about his injured wrist and it slipped out from under him, sending him back to the floor. 

He coughed weakly, his throat and sinuses burning. He could feel his entire body shivering, each breath a shallow, excruciating thing. 

At least he was out of the spray now, he thought, feeling the water hit his back and his legs. It puddled around him, cold and tinged with red, before making its way to the drains that ran the length of the wall. 

He couldn’t stop shivering, and James wished he could because the movement was awful against the static screaming in his ears. 

James tried to turn his head - to lift his face from the inch of water on the ground. It felt a Herculean effort and he accidentally slipped on his bad wrist, and his vision went white for a long, agonising breath. 

_ The timer would stop at ten minutes. It couldn’t be long now. It had to stop. It had to stop.  _

With a whine of pain, James managed to roll on the ball of his shoulder, pushing against the tiles from where he had collapsed on his side and front. He fell onto his back with a harsh splash, the top of his head hitting the wall and the tiles painful on his shoulder blades. He tried to take a deeper breath, but it burned so badly going down that it made his eyes tear, and James coughed, and then he couldn’t stop coughing, his lungs thin and full of water. He couldn’t believe that with all they had done, with all the close scrapes they had had - this was what got him: a bunch of assholes in the fucking shower. 

His chest hurt, and he could still taste blood in his mouth.  _ Why was there still blood - ? _ ...warm on his chin and under his nose. James couldn’t stop coughing, and he pressed his good hand to his ribs, trying to thump himself clear, to rid the water. He knew if he could just get one good press in, it would expel the liquid and clear his lungs. 

The ceiling lights were very, very bright. 

_ He just needed one good thump.   _

James didn’t remember passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to explore some gratuitous realism re what happens after the Galra take-over but before Voltron arrive - not as real as the Putlizer prize winning war documentary that is season 7, but ajlsdkfjadlkj. :3 I will write this alongside my Atlas-centric fic which focuses on Shiro, Lance etc and the paladins more but I couldn't resist fleshing out earth squad (they're pretty 2d in the show I must admit but it leaves lots of room for creativity!!!). Anyway. I just. I LOVE THEM NOW!!!!!! I have lots of character-study thoughts about James and will explore it either in this or another fic ahhh i'm just. I love them.  
> inspired by[this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650205) which explores how the cadets don't get promoted due to the war!
> 
> anyway please come squee with me on **[tumblr](http://fishwrites.tumblr.com)** or **[twitter](http://twitter.com/fishwrites) - ** also I made a pairing [**soundtrack** for Jade](https://open.spotify.com/user/fishielistens/playlist/0GtR7e60EkUu30257q0viK) (or is it Kinkames hehe i love both)?!


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinkade and Leifsdottir finds James.

  _"The opposite of anger is not calmness, it’s empathy."_  
\- Mehmet Oz

:i:

_[You have (2) new messages in_ ** _Earth Squad_** @MFE-ares _group chat]_

> < 23:00 > **Leif** : hey where is James?
> 
> < 23:00 > **Nadia** : yeah it’s late for him where he go
> 
> < 23:01 > _ You _ : running extra sims at the gym @ILeifsdottir 
> 
> < 23:01 > **Leif** : ok
> 
> < 23:02 > **Nadia** : damn i’m tired AF and he’s running? 
> 
> < 23:03 > _ You _ : probably not long.

* * *

_[You have (6) new messages in_ ** _Earth Squad_** @MFE-ares _group chat]_

> < 01:35 > **Leif** : is James back yet? He’s not answering my messages.
> 
> < 01:40 > **Leif:** @RKinkade ?? 
> 
> < 01:41 > **Nadia:** bro @RKinkade answer ur phone
> 
> < 01:41 > **Nadia** : BRUH
> 
> < 01:42 > **Nadia:** god you’re such an old man - 5 min and then i’m calling ur lazy ass
> 
> < 01:47 > **Nadia** : beep beep times up

* * *

Kinkade didn’t remember falling asleep but he was woken by the sound of his phone ringing, tablet still face-up in his lap. The space next to him was cold - James hadn’t come back yet.

The phone buzzed, angry and impatient. Groaning, Kinkade reached out blindly and slapped a hand on it.

The soft glow from the wall screen read that it was almost two in the morning. He squinted at his phone, which had a bunch of unread messages below the  _ incoming call _ graphic plastered with Rizavi’s grinning face. Kinkade let himself flop back onto his pillow and hit the green button. 

“What,” he said, voice dry from falling asleep and being woken too quickly, “it’s - “

“Oh you did fall asleep,” came Nadia’s voice, cheery and far too awake for the hour, “is our fearless leader with you? Leif is getting stressed.”

Kinkade looked to his right again, and ran an absent hand across the cool sheets, the top of the blankets still tucked in and folded in perfectly lined triangles. James had an uncanny ability to fold sheets and blankets in a way that defied the law of creases, and Kinkade had merely pulled up his side of the blankets and slid in. James’ side was still made up, untouched. Even the corners of his pillow was tucked in. 

The sight of it made something in his chest curl and uncurl, warm and comfortable. 

“Not back yet,” said Ryan, rubbing his eyes, “...s’late though yeah.”

“Well can you go get him or something because Leif needs to sleep,” said Nadia, “she texted me about going down to the gym to look for him.”

Kinkade stared up at the ceiling. 

“I’ll go get him,” he said, “probably just fell asleep on the bench or something.”

“Not the first time,” snorted Nadia, “ok well please do it soon and put poor Leif out of her misery.”

“I’ll text her,” reassured Kinkade and hung up. 

He scrolled through the group chat, eyes having adjusted to the light. He glanced at the clock again, and felt a frission of unease. James had a habit of messaging everyone before he went to bed, and as with most of James’ habits, usually it was a reliable and punctual thing. Their days varied with the unwelcome surprises of the Galra kind, and they were all hyper-aware of how precious and comforting a routine could be - especially for Leif. Even if James had decided to run extra sims, it was unlike him to forget. Most likely he fell asleep. Kinkade hoped James didn’t slip and crack his head open in the shower. 

He opened the group chat, rolling out of the bed in the same motion. He typed, one handed: 

> < 01:52 > _ You _ : hey sorry i missed this, fell asleep
> 
> < 01:52 > _ You _ : i’m gonna go down to the gym and get him
> 
> < 01:52 > **Leif** : can i come?
> 
> < 01:53 > _ You _ : sure i’ll swing by your room in 10?
> 
> < 01:53 > **Leif** : no i’ll come to you

Kinkade swung his jacket off the hook and stuffed one foot into a boot, making a face at the lack of socks. He almost tripped over his bag on the way over to his left shoe. He didn’t bother with putting on a shirt, just shrugged on his jacket over a thin undershirt that he used as pyjamas. Whatever, it wasn’t a very long walk down to the gym, and knowing Leif, she would be here at any - 

> <01:55> **Leif** : here.

The room to their door made a cheerful soft  _ bleep! _ noise barely a split second later and eyebrow raised, Kinkade hastily pulled his hand through the sleeves of his jacket. He passed a hand over the sensor to open the door, and it wooshed open silently to reveal Leif peering up at him with anxious eyes. 

She was still fully dressed, phone in hand.

“Hi,” she said, in a rush, “sorry I know it’s late. Just worried because usually James is back by now and I can’t sleep thinking about it. He usually says something. He always replies. I’m just worried.”

Kinkade bumped shoulders with her, letting the door woosh closed behind them as they fell in step next to each other. The corridor was lit only with security lighting, a dull glow lining the base of the walls to conserve energy, and the air was a few degrees cooler than their rooms. 

“It’s okay,” he said as they rounded a corner and headed to the lifts, “I’m sure he just fell asleep putting on his socks or something.”

Leif nodded, as if reassuring herself. They stopped at the lifts and she pushed the arrow pointing down, which glowed a warm amber orange against the pale skin of her hand. 

“There is precedent for it,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Ryan, a yawn muffling his next words, “I’ll make him come to bed the next time.”

They got into the lift, which was empty at this hour, and in no time at all were making their way towards the double doors that opened into the training gym. The lights came on as they walked in, triggered by their movement and bathing the room in bright light and the squeaking echoes of their shoes on polished flooring. 

It was quite empty. 

“Not here,” said Leif, “showers?”

She strode ahead of him, steps quickening so that Kinkade at to hasten to catch up. The showers and change rooms were placed on the far right side of the gym, past the terrain modulator sims and the weights. Leif was almost vibrating with impatience, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet as she waited for Kinkade to swipe his tag on the door. 

Ryan hesitated for a moment, palm on the door. 

“Wait here,” he said, glancing meaningfully at the MALE sign above the door - but Leif didn’t seem to care, following him on his heels even as he stepped into the bathroom. There was a breath when the place was completely dark - and then the lights flicked on as they stepped over the threshold.

Kinkade frowned. 

“James?” he called, surveying the empty benches and the line of white sinks. His voice bounced off the tiles, empty and quiet. There was no sound of water, no sound of movement - nothing. The tingling unease Ryan had felt since they entered the gym buzzed a little louder in his veins. 

“...James, you in here?”

Leif was already squeezing past Kinkade, eyes darting, sparrow quick. 

She made a beeline for one of the shower stalls, and Kinkade realised that it was the only one with its door hanging ajar. 

“Wait - “ Kinkade began, but Leif was already pushing the stall-door open - and for a brief, bizarre moment Kinkade readied himself to apologise to whoever it was that they had intruded on.

Then Leif let out an awful  _ scream.  _

“ _ JAMES!” _

The bottom dropped out from beneath Kinkade’s stomach. 

Leif darted into the narrow shower cubicle, knocking the door hard against the wall with a  _ bang _ . For a split second, Kinkade couldn’t see anything except the technicolour of his own imagination, imprinted against the sound of Leif still screaming James’ name. 

And then she fell forwards onto her knees, and Kinkade felt his breath freeze in his throat. 

“No, no,  _ no _ ,” she was saying, hands shaking where they hovered, movements jerky, voice almost inaudible above the harsh echo of her breathing, “James,  _ James _ , wake up, wake up -!”

James didn’t move. He was lying on his back, legs folded as if he had crumpled in on himself, the top of his head half tilted where it was pressed against the wall. One of his hands lay on his chest, fingers half curled - while the other was flung out near the drains, palm up and loose, wrist swollen and crooked in a way that told Kinkade it was badly fractured, if not broken. There were dark splotches of colour along his lower ribs, and a bloom of purple and blue spanning the breadth of his abdomen all the way up to the base of his sternum. 

Leif was pinching James’ right earlobe, still shouting, frantic. Kinkade had never seen her lose self control like this, and there was a roaring in his own ears that was paralysing; he could not feel the tips of his own fingers, and his tongue was numb where it was glued to the roof of his mouth. There was blood at James’ hairline too, where the water had plastered his hair to his head and washed out the colour of the blood to a gentle blush. 

He had pressed a kiss there, just a few hours ago. 

“James! James, wake up, wake up, James,  _ no, no, no, James - “ _

But Kinkade could not look away from the blood - the only colour against the grey-white tiles and James’ pallid skin; blood that was covering the lower half of his face, still trickling from his nose mouth, bright red even where it had dried on his chin and dripped down the slope of his neck. The left side of his face was almost unrecognisable: entirely black-blue where the skin was not broken, left eye puffy and already swollen shut. James’ chest was still, and for an awful, long minute, Kinkade felt like the whole world narrowed down to a singular pinprick of focus. It was too still.  _ Was he -? _

And then James made a choked, gasping sort of noise - clearly struggling to breathe past the blood in his nose. He arched off the ground, ribs visible against his skin, mouth open and teeth stained red. Then he collapsed again just as abruptly, his breath a high pitched wheeze.

Clinically, Ryan suspected a broken nose. Judging by the one sided bruises, James’ attacker had clearly been right handed. 

“ _ James,” _ cried Leif, one palm on James’ uninjured cheek, the other holding his good wrist with white knuckles. She looked up at Kinkade then, eyes huge and lips pressed thin. 

“We need to turn him,” she said, visibly struggling with the words, “he can’t breathe properly, he’s going to suffocate.”

The words seemed to snap the paralysis and Kinkade almost stumbled with it. 

“No - “ he said, voice coming out louder than he had meant it, “no,  _ don’t move him _ \- I’m going to get the MEDiC* vest and- just hold his neck still. Spinal injuries.”

“Yes,” said Leif, blinking hard, “yes, okay!”

Kinkade knocked his shoulder heard against the edge of the cubical in his haste, running to the door and back into the gym. The first aid MEDiC kit was in a clear case right by the seats and he wrenched the lid open, grabbing vest and the scanner and sprinting back into the bathroom. All in all, it took him perhaps five seconds...but it felt like one of the longest five seconds in his life. 

Leif had positioned herself on James’ other side, and she was holding his neck and head still with both hands - just like they had been trained to do. Her face was half hidden by her hair, but Kinkade could see her mouthing  _ please wake up, please wake up _ over and over. James’ eyes were still closed, expression slack - and if it wasn’t for the intermittent choking-gasps, one could have mistaken him for a corpse. 

_ Stop it, _ Kinkade shouted to himself,  _ just fucking calm down, you’ve seen worse, you’ve seen worse -  _

He dropped to his knees facing Leif and carefully laid the vest across James chest, Leif lifting his good hand up to make room for the MEDiC. The kit glowed to life, automatically triggered by the position it was in, and the thin flexi-screen began to populate itself with flicker-fast images as the vest scanned the body beneath it. 

They all had extensive first aid training - every first year cadet knew how to use a MEDiC vest and scanner, even if most of them hadn’t had to use it personally before. That had changed after the Galra arrived, of course, and Kinkade moved with the surety of muscle memory, even as the static buzzing in his ears grew louder the longer they were there, knees growing cold on the damp tiles and James unconscious between them. He lifted the scanner, which was tethered to the vest with two clear plastic cords, and held it above James’ head. 

“I think he has a concussion,” said Leif, “we need to try wake him.”

Kinkade didn’t answer. He waited for the scanner to glow green before carefully and slowly moving it down across James’ face. Leif was still holding his neck still, but she was bent, eyes fixed on the readouts scrolling on the vest. Ryan had barely made it past James’ collarbones when he made another awful, shuddering noise, mouth gasping for air. A flare of anger spiked in Kinkade’s chest, and he felt almost blinded with it; the emotion burning hot and vicious behind his eyes. 

_Keep it together Kinkade,_ _fucking keep together -_

“No broken ribs,” Leif recited, sounding a lot calmer than she had minutes before, “quite a bit of liquid in the lungs though, fifth-left hairline fracture,  _ oh -  _ internal bleeding…”

“Shit,” muttered Kinkade.

He was grateful for his rifle hands - there was no tremor in them, even though his heart was beating rapid fast against the inside of his lungs. It hurt, like he had been the one to be punched. 

The scan felt like it took forever, but finally he reached the arch of James’ ankle and clicked it off. The vest made a high-pitched trilling noise, and Leif quickly tapped in the commands. A phone buzzed, but they both ignored it.

“No spinal injuries,” breathed Kinkade, exhaling hard, “thank  _ god. _ ”

“Should we wait for the infirmary to send someone down?” she asked, her hands hovering over James’ face. She went to lift his head - to tilt him into the recovery position - but then pulled away with a startled sound. 

There was blood on her fingers. 

Kinkade and Leif shared a piercing look, and then they moved as one, Leif holding James’ head and neck while Kinkade carefully turned him onto his side. He lay one palm across James’ ribs, trying to count the gaps between his breaths and his heart beats. They listened, hearts in their mouths. 

It was like counting the seconds between thunder and lightning, and with each moment of absence, the dread grew. 

James made the same small, choking gasp. His heart rate stuttered beneath Kinkade’s hands, and his eyelids seemed to flicker, showing the whites beneath them. He coughed again, then again, red on the tips of Leif’s fingers.

“It’s not working,” said Leif stiffly after a few moments, “it’s - either his broken nose or there’s blood in his airways, I can’t - we need to get him to the infirmary.”

Kinkade nodded once - shifting so he could hook one arm beneath James’ knees and wedge the other behind his shoulders. James’ skin was cold - either from the tiles or something else, Ryan couldn’t quite tell - but it made him feel almost light headed with panic. 

_ Keep. It. Together. _

Carefully, Kinkade lifted James into a sitting position, his head lolling onto Kinkade’s shoulder. Leif folded James’ left arm so that his injured wrist was tucked against his clavicle, and Ryan pulled James higher on his shoulder so that he could wedge his chin over James’ head, keeping him still and his face tilted downwards to help with the breathing. 

Kinkade could smell the rust of the blood now, and could feel the dampness of it at the back of James’ head where there was an egg-sized lump. Either he had fallen hard, or someone had hit him over the head with something. 

“He’s not breathing,” Leif was saying over and over, “he’s not  _ breathing _ . We need to wake him up.”

“I’ll run,” Kinkade promised. 

Like the rest of them, James was all corded muscle. He wasn’t light by any measure, but he felt weightless as Kinkade stood, holding James more securely against himself. He didn’t want to jostle James any more than necessary, but the way he was struggling to breathe was becoming blatantly dangerous.

Leif seemed to be stuck in a loop, eyes tight and hands hovering. 

“James,” she said, right into James’ ear, “James _?” _

“He’s going to be okay,” said Kinkade, manoeuvring them out of the cubical. The movement seemed to change something, because James made a gurgling wheezing gasp, chest seizing as he jerked, back arching with the effort of breathing. Something buzzed, a startling noise. It was Kinkade’s phone, where it had been abandoned on the floor.

“ _ Fuck!” _  said Kinkade, trying to keep James still on his shoulder, “shit, just hang on for a bit longer - Leif, my phone - “

“I got it,” said Leif, scooping up the phone and dashing ahead to open the door for Kinkade. 

James was still shuddering in his arms, coughing wet, awful noises against Kinkade’s throat. Kinkade walked as fast as he could without moving James too much, but the latter was struggling, brows furrowed in pain, mouth open and back bowing everytime he tried to inhale. 

Behind them, Ryan could hear Leif’s voice, rising in volume with every step. 

“ - and internal bleeding there was a lot of blood, Nadia, he won’t wake up,  _ he just won’t wake up  _ and if he has a concussion the risk of….yes, in the showers. Judging by the length of time he had been there, he might have - “

James made a pathetic noise, high at the back of his throat. 

Kinkade paused to readjust him, and felt the wet flecks of blood on his collar when James gasped, each breath laboured and harsh. His eyes felt hot. There were distinct finger-shaped bruises ringing James’ neck. Up close, Kinkade could see the twin points of deep purple-blue where someone had dug in their thumbs into the soft skin beneath James’ jaw. Someone had attacked him in the fucking showers and  _ held him down  _ and - 

He forcibly blinked the anger clear from his vision, striding through the gym doors.

“Left, then another left!” called Leif, “there’s a different set of lifts; faster this way - “ as she ran ahead, phone still held to her ear. 

Kinkade followed, almost running, James’ s uninjured cheek knocking against his shoulder with each stride.

“...w-what...?“

Kinkade almost walked right into Leif in shock. 

James’s one good eye was open, but his stare was glazed, pupils blown wide and dark. He was trying to tilt his head back to look at Kinkade, breathing coming in stutters and jerks that Ryan could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt. 

“No, don’t -” he said, trying to tilt James’ head back down by pushing on the top of his head with his own cheek, “it’ll be easier to breathe if you - ”

“James!” exclaimed Leif, dashing over, face pale in the glow of the emergency lighting, “you’re awake - !”

“...what h-happened?” said James, voice a thin thread, “Ryan? Was there a -  “

“Hey, it’s okay, James - “

James’ eye widened, and he jerked so hard that he knocked Ryan painfully on the edge of his jaw, gaze casting about wildly, desperate like the hummingbird fast way his heart was going. He seemed lost.

“....O-oh god, where’r the girls? Where -  _ are they okay?! _ ”

His words were slurred against his busted lip and swollen jaw, and he coughed again - and didn’t stop coughing for a long minute. There was no blood in his face. The lift  _ pinged _ to arrival, and they rushed inside despite James’ obvious disorientation. 

“Where’re the girls?” he said again, trying to turn and failing, “...was there a ‘splosion? Kinkade - “

“I’m here,” said Leif, pressing close, “I’m here! Stay awake James.”

“Oh! Leif. Y-you’re okay...” said James, and he tried to smile but winced. “...Ow.”

“Don’t move,” said Kinkade, watching the numbers on the lift door tick oh-so-slowly. The large orange numbers blinked through each floor like a set of playing cards from an age ago. Every second was eternity.

“R-rizavi?” said James, and Kinkade felt his heart clench painfully at the obvious panic in James’s face, at the thought that one of his friends were in danger, “Where’s Nadia -?“

“We’re all fine,” said Kinkade, grateful for the way his voice did not tremor even though he felt like screaming, “stay still - James -  _ hey  _ listen to me! We’re all okay. Everything is okay. We’re at the Garrison.”

All the fight seemed to drain from James’ body and he slumped against Kinkade’s shoulder. He coughed again wetly when he tried to inhale through his nose, mouth parted for air -   

“...oh,” he said, gaze going from Kinkade to Leif and then back again, full of relief, “...we all made it back?”

\- then promptly passed out again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh thanks for joining me in rarepair hell, I can't believe there's so few of us asdlkfja i hope u guys liked this and it was "in character" (though I realise we don't get much solid characterisation canon bleh).  Thanks to [asterein](http://asterein.tumblr.com) for screaming about these beautiful boys with me. FYI MEDiC first aid vest stands for *Mobile External Diagnostic Centre and is from Weyland industries (Prometheus) ;3   pls come squee with me on **[twitter](http://twitter.com/fishwrites)** or **[tumblr](http://fishwrites.tumblr.com).** If you make Jade / Kinkames art, pls message me omg i'm thirsty.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to explore some gratuitous realism re what happens after the Galra take-over but before Voltron arrive - not as real as the Putlizer prize winning war documentary that is season 7, but ajlsdkfjadlkj. :3 I will write this alongside my Atlas-centric fic which focuses on Shiro, Lance etc and the paladins more but I couldn't resist fleshing out earth squad (they're pretty 2d in the show I must admit but it leaves lots of room for creativity!!!). Anyway. I just. I LOVE THEM NOW!!!!!! I have lots of character-study thoughts about James and will explore it either in this or another fic ahhh i'm just. I love them.
> 
> inspired by[this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15650205) which explores how the cadets don't get promoted due to the war!
> 
> anyway please come squee with me on **[tumblr](http://fishwrites.tumblr.com)** or **[twitter](http://twitter.com/fishwrites) - ** also I made a pairing [**soundtrack** for Jade](https://open.spotify.com/user/fishielistens/playlist/0GtR7e60EkUu30257q0viK) (or is it Kinkames hehe i love both)?!


End file.
